Posts Tagged ‘Nazis’


the-boys-from-brazil-1If there was a general tagline to apply to any paranoid film poster, the question, “Will We Survive Them?” would do just as good as any. Rule #1 in paranoid propaganda is “we should fear them and survival, itself, is as good of a reason as any to fear our dastardly Other: be they the birds, a rogue shark, fucking Nazis, the undead, our own doppelganger, aliens or some combination thereof. In the case of 1978’s The Boys from Brazil, the tagline is altered just a bit to “If They Survive, Will We?” This is a different hypothesis in that there is a hint of dominion over the Other. If they survive, as in, should we allow them to survive? This changes the narrative of the common paranoid theme from the repressed Orwellian interloper to a perspective of power: should we allow them to survive? should we not deport them? should we not seize their possessions and send them to prison camps? What are we going to do with these Boys from Brazil?

Without spoiling the plot, “the Boys” are the remnants of the German Third Reich, or Nazis: the Next Generation. The protagonist and we, the spectators, are not the downtrodden and suppressed in this allegory. Nay – the tables have turned and it is the fucking Nazis on the run – They are the fugitives hiding amongst the populace like palmetto bugs under margarita-sticky lotto tickets, as thick as thieves. What this new tagline IF THEY SURVIVE, WILL WE? is granting us (We: protagonist and spectator) is control over Their survival. What should our “Final Solution” be to rid the planet of Nazi Evil? And if extermination is in the works, are we no better than the Evil we wish to perish?


I rented a copy of The Boys from Brazil from a Hillsborough County Library under the name of Pedro Parker. The Visigoth librarian arched one of her pierced brows at the title. Sarcasm was the sore broad’s sword, even now, easily a decade past her forgivable teen angst. “Boys from Brazil?” The bull-ring holding her nostrils together jumped at her snarky snort. “What is this, the third installment of Dirty Dancing?” I told her if she wanted to watch it together, I would throw in corn chips and warm coconut oil. I spoke without thought of what I would have done if she agreed, merely haphazardly hypothesizing out of curiosity of how the chain connecting her wallet to her jeans would sound rattled.

Greg Peck wants you to watch this movie

Greg Peck wants you to watch this movie

I watched The Boys from Brazil from a misplaced motel in Ybor City with a VHS player obtained at a West Tampa pawnshop in exchange for a windmill I made out of crushed beer cans. I paid cash for the room and used forged traveler’s checks for the corn chips and coconut oil. The sink was full of ice and cans of local beer, so I had to wash my hands and feet in the tub, which startled the shit out of the palmetto bugs copulating in the drain like star-crossed lovers from Dirty Dancing 2: Havana Nights. I set the air conditioner to full blast until the temperature dipped beneath 60 degrees, which it never did, hovering around a humid 83. 83 degrees was good. 83 was fine, I needed to sweat. I was convalescing after a terrible bout with existentialism, of which I will not bore you, but needless to say the meds were lacking (though I was not beyond trying).

The Movie

Carey Mahoney makes a phone call from Paraguay.

Carey Mahoney makes a phone call from Paraguay.

The Boys from Brazil begins in Paraguay, naturally, as Mahoney from Police Academy (Steve Guttenberg) plays an American Nazi-Hunter and stumbles upon a slew, nay – a veritable stew of Nazis, headed by “Angel of Death” Doc Josef Mengele. It is creepily worth noting Mengele’s non-fictional death occurred several months after The Boys from Brazil hit theaters. I have written about Mengele in my blog post All That Glitters in South America is not Nazi Gold, but a lot of it is. Non-Fiction Mengele was a madman and a huge douchebag, young enough of a fucking Nazi to live through the disco era, yet old enough to have the fucking Nazi esteem to perform carte blanche science experiments on concentration camp prisoners. Mengele’s fictional self was just as much of a fucking asshole, ever-exasperated in an unholy performance by the saintly Gregory Peck.

The Boys from Brazil would have you believe Mengele was ***SPOILER ALERT*** cloning Hitlers in the jungle (thus the evil little boys, get it?) but let me just mention this so my sister doesn’t freak out: Mengele lacked the proper education of contemporary genetics necessary to outleap the rest of the geneticist field in bounds. The possibility Mengele would figure out how to clone Hitlers in the jungle are nil. Unless you have read my other blogs and understand the pipeline of gold out of the 3rd Reich in preparation of the 4th in which case you might have reason to believe contemporary scientific methods and theory made their way to the mad doctor’s labs. Okay, fine – so the movie premise of cloning a bunch of baby Hitlers in the early ‘60s in the backwater jungles of Brazil and shipping them via stork-mail to waiting adopters throughout the Northern Hemisphere is unlikely, but… plausible.

Boysfrombrazil5Back to the movie: Mengele, played by Gregory Peck (famous as Atticus Finch, Ahab, other worthwhile vociferous characters), has the young American Police Academy cadet stabbed to death. This alerts Mahoney’s Nazi-Hunting mentor in Switzerland, played by Lawrence Olivier (not to be confused with Lawrence of Arabia, which was Peter O’Toole). What follows: the old Nazi-Hunter Ezra Lieberman tracks down the conspiracy uncovered by Mahoney to learn 14 years prior ninety-four Hitler clones were distributed across the world. Ezra Lieberman learns Mengele’s conspiracy involved creating the same nurture to go along with the cloning nature: ensuring the boy Hitlers lose their 94 fathers while in their teens via accidental assassination courtesy of goons.

This movie may be farfetched science-fiction, but the acting between Peck and Olivier is phenomenal. You buy Peck as a brilliant, yet mad, doctor and Olivier as the bumbling, yet brilliant, pursuant Ezra Lieberman. Who doesn’t get any proper mentioning with this film is Jeremy Black, who plays every Hitler “boy” from “brazil”: Jack Curry, Simon Harrington, Erich Doring and Bobby Wheelock. Jeremy has a knack for playing a fantastic little shit. You can see Hitler taking root from his eerie little eyes. Poor bastard never acted again (according to THE INTERNET)


Lawrence Olivier as Ezra Lieberman

Lawrence Olivier as Ezra Lieberman

The acting alone warrants five out of five stars for this conspiracy theory jewel of the late seventies. Lawrence Olivier is particularly disarming as the feeble Ezra Lieberman responsible for hunting down Nazis. Larry was even ill with kidney stones while filming this movie, which made his final confrontation with Greg Peck’s Mengele all the more difficult. It is the final scene, however, where Olivier’s subtlety in acting is a testament to the craft. It is a predictable scene, as is any popular movie scene from the ‘70s since we, spectator, have seen every great scene plagiarized hence; yet it is a scene charming, nonetheless. The old Nazi Hunter Ezra is bed-ridden after his confrontation with Josef Mengele. The old Jew is confronted by a young American Jew who wants to hunt down the rest of the young Hitlers and systemically kill them off. Only Ezra Lieberman has the list, which he lights afire while making a kindly remark about a favorable nurse.

You know, there was a nurse here, an angel of mercy called Miss Hannah, who actually gives me cigarettes. You know what she said to me the other day? She said, Mr. Lieberman, if you can escape Buchenwald, and you can escape those bullets, then a few cigarettes will not hurt you. Isn’t that a nice thing to say?

Herein is the underlying beauty of the film. Lieberman had escaped Nazis in his youth and here he spends his last days hunting down the guilty. Does he give the list of Hitler clones her procured to the next generation of Nazi hunters who will murder the children to prevent another holocaust? No. Ezra burns the list to prevent further atrocities against the innocent.

What Would You Do?

Ezra Liebermen is obviously a sucker for justice with faith in humanity. Predestination means naught to him. He is an honorable man who still lives with his spinster sister in Switzerland, neither of whom seem able to pay rent on time. When confronted with the knowledge the world is populated by 94 Hitler clones, Ezra allowed those young bastards to live on unscathed, unlike the list he burned. IF THEY SURVIVE, WILL WE?

I adore the Ezra Lieberman character just as much as I loved Ned Stark in his feeble attempt to play the game of thrones. I, myself, as a cynic and a believer in the fact there are already far too many people on this planet, I think Billy Hitler can go fuck himself. To quote Bob Marley’s Sheriff John Brown, prior to being shot by Bob, “Kill the seed before it grow.” Yes, if I were Ezra, I’d be less than half the man and allow the systematic execution of ninety-four still-innocent children. Does my Nazi hate make me Nazi-ish? Perhaps, but then as Colonel Chesterbridge (unrelated Danger 5 films) always says before parting, “As always, Kill Hitler.”

Favorite Lines from the Movie:

When Ezra Lieberman finally confronts Mengele in Pennsylvania, he asks if Joe Mengele killed Mister Wheelock, the father of Bobby (Hitler clone). Gregory Peck’s Mengele responds in a manner to undermine the built-up tension.

No, he’s in the kitchen mixing us some cocktails!

When Mengele tells young Bobby Wheelock, “You are the living duplicate of the greatest man in history: Adolf Hitler”, the little Hitler clone responds with American spite,

Oh man, you’re weird.

When Sidney Beynon (actor Denholm Elliot, aka Marcus Brody from Indiana Jones movies) considers the conspiracy of Mengele of killing the fathers of 94 Hitler clones, he is aghast at how random the search for potential suspects could be. He asks Ezra if Ezra realizes how many men in their mid-60s dies every day. Ezra responds,

I try not to think about it.

Professor Bruckner gives a lecture to Ezra about cloning and how he could take a scrape of skin from Ezra’s finger to make an Ezra Lieberman, Ezra responds

I would tell you not to waste your time on my finger.


March 2015, Argentina somewhere near the Paraguayan border, beneath the slithering vines of jungle and within a forgotten stone structure, a horde of happenstance archaeologists struck gold. Nazi gold. The diggers of the University of Buenos Aires uncovered a trove of swastika-stamped coins, neatly deposited in an evil little cubby-hole awaiting collection from its owner, undoubtedly some long-dead, god-forsook, goose-stepped, villain reeking of schnapps and dry-roasted Pan Am peanuts.

Who owns this treasure?

Is it Argentina, the country which welcomed fleeing Nazis in the late 1940’s with open-arms and spread-legs? Yeah, I am looking at you, Evita: sleeping your way up the fascist food-chain until Juan Perón became dictator of Argentina and you, enterprising slut you, went on your European shopping spree, the “Rainbow Tour”, seeking out hidden Nazis in Franco’s Spain and inviting them to bring their loot back to the banks of Buenos Aires via the ever-accommodating Swiss (so typical, Switzerland). After all the Nazi riches Eva (aka Evita aka Madonna “Don’t cry for me Argentina”) Perón brought into Argentina, what’s a few more coins?

Nazi Gold? You have (Madonna) Evita's attention!

Nazi Gold? You have Madonna Evita’s attention!

Or should the gold be shipped back to Germany where the keepers of a guilty conscience might sift through the loot in order to decide of whom it was stolen from in the first place only to be lost in a bureaucratic boondoggle?

Perhaps you (You, dear reader) have a claim… Your grandparents’ gold fillings in their teeth may have been seized by Nazis marauding through the Old Country and those fillings were melted down into swastika-stamped dimes and now you want your dimes back. Go grab your International Law barrister and argue your heart’s content!

You see, I don’t give a damn. The Nazi coins can be wished away in wells for fuck-all I care.

NAZI GOLDAye, you may think this a hypocritical stance for a renowned treasure hunter, such as Victor Ulysses Neverman, to take. Chances are you are right. Au is still Au on the periodic table, regardless of whose eagle is emblazoned upon it. Yet… Nazi Gold is Nazi. Fucking cursed. I would argue the gold of El Dorado I searched for in 2000, 2007 and 2013 was not cursed or the byproduct of evil men. The Spanish Conquistadors never found ‘the Gilded-One’ and never had a chance to collect the gold they shed blood over. No, when it comes to El Dorado, the only curse is on those foolish enough to seek it and… well, I didn’t have anything else going on at the time, so why not head down to South America for some high stake hijinks?

This Nazi Gold, though, is a different story.

All that glitters is not gold;
Often have you heard that told:
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold:
Gilded tombs do worms enfold.

– Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

Nazi Gold in South America: WHAT? WHY? HOW?

There is plenty of Nazi Gold to be found in South America and Nazi Gold is much easier to stumble upon than the famed riches of the mythical city of El Dorado. These coins found in March of 2015 represent a larger collection of stashed-away loot which is not just a relic of the Third Reich, but rather the spilled coffers of the Fourth. Yes, the Fourth Reich, the Nazi leftovers already integrated into the global political and economic system.

Allow me to take a deep quaff off of this draft before I elaborate…

In the mid-1940s, as the drums of impending doom could be heard in the Berlin bedchambers of sleepless Nazi party officials, a scheme was hatched. Not by Hitler. By then, Adolf’s nerves were woven into a case of baskets and his wits congealed into tapioca. It was Martin Bormann, the head of the Nazi Party, who designed Aktion Adlerflug (or ‘Operation Eagle Flight’ to us of the English persuasion). The plot was to continue National Socialism beyond the inevitable fall of Germany. Aktion Adlerflug was devised as a means to send capital abroad to be absorbed into American corporations and South American fascist regimes. Certainly, the United States and the Soviet Union picked their own kickball squads out of the Nazi scientists they captured (‘Operation Paperclip would send the Western kickball squad back to America).

Martin Bormann, leader of the Nazi Party.

Martin Bormann, leader of the Nazi Party.

It would be those Nazis uncaptured – the war criminals and party officials too infamous to return to Rhineland agriculture or apply for a job as a machinist at Bayerische Motoren Werke – who required ulterior methods for escaping Nuremburg justice. For these, there were the ‘Rat Lines’ of Aktion Adlerflug. ‘Rat Lines’ were smuggling routes for assisting Nazis out of Europe. Otto Skorzeny ran Die Spinne (‘the spider’) route through Franco’s Spain. ODESSA (‘Organisation der Ehemaligen SS-Angehörigen’) is another Rat Line glamorized in literature and rejected histories. Even if ODESSA did not exist, as many historians argue, the safe passage of many Nazis to South America cannot be argued. Both Argentina and the Vatican issued thousands of blank passports to fleeing Nazis (courtesy of Juan Peron and Pious XII, who historian John Cornwell wrote about in his 1999 book Hitler’s Pope), allowing them to reinvent identities elsewhere. Elsewhere, the USA & USSR indiscriminately absorbed Nazis into their military industrial ranks. This migration of Nazis isn’t a simple conspiracy; it is a goddamn flea market of auctioned-off evil.

Yeah, so, you know why Paraguay has the most identical twins in the world? Because of Nazi genetic experimentation!

– Jacobo Van Buren, who studied paranoia under the tutelage of Vic Neverman
Nazis in South America


mengeleEver hear of SS Doctor Josef Mengele, aka “Angel of Extermination”? He performed genetic experiments at Auschwitz and had a fascination for twins. Josef left the concentration camp one step ahead of the liberating Russian army and made his way to Argentina in 1949. Pursued by the Mossad Israeli Intelligence, Joseph fled to Paraguay in 1959 and to Brazil in 1960. One step ahead of the Nazi hunters, Josef Mengele would never be captured. He suffered a stroke while swimming off the coast of Brazil in 1979 and drowned. He was buried as Wolfgang Gerhard; a 1992 exhumation identified the body as Mengele.

EichmannHow about Obersturmbannfuehrer Adolf Eichmann? Eichmann was one of the masterminds of the Holocaust. He too eluded fled to South America. In 1960, however, the Mossad found him, captured him, double-checked his identity, smuggled him out of Argentina (who refused to extradite former Nazis) as an unconscious flight attendant (they actually flew a commercial airliner to Senegal and then Tel Aviv with Eichmann sedated) to Israel where he was tried and eventually executed.

Whatever happened to Martin Bormann, the leader of the Nazi Party at war’s end? Officially, West Germany says Bormann died trying to escape in 1945, but their case was based on a Nazi-loyalist dentist’s memory of Bormann’s teeth when the remains of his grave were presented in the 1970s. Paul Manning, a journalist for the NY Times once wrote of Bormann’s actual escape from Berlin, a passage that includes Bormann posing as a Dominican monk in Spain before arriving in Buenos Aires in 1947. Manning received a report from the FBI (yes, this would be the American Federal Bureau of motherfucking I) which tracked Bormann’s progression from 1948 through 1961 through Argentina, Paraguay, Brazil and Chile. In 1998, fragments of the 1945 skull of Bormann found in Berlin were “conclusively” tested positive as Bormann’s despite all the evidence of his extended mortality elsewhere. Written history is a bitch like that… a fitting end justifies ill-fit means. Just a hunch, but I would guess Bormann expired in South America and his remains were secretly transported by the Fourth Reich to Berlin where skulls were swapped and a conspiracy buried.

Just in case you wanted to read Manning’s book on Bormann, it is available to read here.


Seek Nazi Gold at your own risk. As a man who has wandered South America in search of riches, this is one carrot I haven’t reached for. I have a compadre who created a bird-watching association for the sole purpose of wandering South America with a “red herring” excuse as he searches for leads on Nazi Gold. While I have, indeed, joined his Avian Society Of Lake Eola as the official photographer and bird identifier, this was more of a social maneuver to get myself invited to parties to be nearer a certain woman whose presence escapes me.

Lo! my point remains – leave the Nazi Gold. Instead, grab a caipirinha or a pisco sour and find yourself a local to teach you how to not dance like a gringo. Now that is worth its price in gold.

Nikos Michaloliakos and his Golden Dawn: Nazis with fanny packs

Nikos Michaloliakos and his Golden Dawn: Nazis with fanny packs

The Golden Dawn made their entrance to the cocktail party like a pachyderm on roller skates – all violent momentum destined to doom your seersucker with spilt vermouth. The party host, left flummoxed, was impotent against the impolite immigrant-bashing and the beastly slaughter of charcuterie. The neo-fascist Golden Dawn regurgitated behind the sofa, wiped shit off their shoe and made off with the silverware. In the ruins of Greece’s economy, such manners were tolerated. The Greek people were desperate and their desperation gave way to anger, anger fueled by the vitriol nationalism upchucked by this upstart – the political party of the Golden Dawn.

Contemporary Golden Dawn with Nazi symbolism

Contemporary Golden Dawn with Nazi symbolism

The Nazi-ish organization known as the Golden Dawn had not completely taken over Greek politics, but they goose-stepped their way into a sizeable foothold in the Greek parliament with 2012’s elections. The rise of the Golden Dawn, however, lurched to a halt this last week after members of the party were linked to the gruesome murder of outspoken liberal Greek rapper Pavlos Fyssas. The police, who were once supportive (the BBC reported that in Athens’ elections last year, 1 in every 2 police voted for a Golden Dawn candidate), now turned on the Golden Dawn on suspicion of being a criminal organization. While previous orchestrated violence against immigrants was ignored, the murder of a left-wing artist of Greek blood was enough to finally begin the crackdown on party organizers.

If the name sounds familiar, it should. A hundred years ago, the Golden Dawn was a Hermetic Order whose occultist members included Bram Stoker, W.B. Yeats and Aleister Crowley. The two separate organizations could not be more unalike, yet this did not draw pause in the scrutiny of yours truly. Last year, I compared the two organizations – the Greek Neo-Nazis with the Victorian Era wizard cult

It befalls to me, Vic Neverman, or someone like me, perhaps less-bearded, but someone who is an apt student of the occult with a keen eye on current events to explain the ironic difference between two unrelated groups with the same optimistic name. Please allow me, dear trusted reader, to explain to you both the Golden Dawn and the Golden Dawn. Neither of these groups include amongst their ranks Goldie Hawn, but I have not fact-checked this. If you came to this blog in search of Goldie Hawn news, I plead you to please look elsewhere.

– Vic Neverman, May of 2012

While the coincidence between the two groups would seemingly end in common names, the earlier, mystical Golden Dawn was not wholly without Nazi ties. Please allow me the luxury of harping back to Europe, 1941… England and Germany were at war. Hitler and the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht are not entirely occupied by English aggression because to the east all they see is Red: Communist Russia. In his dreary memoirs, Mein Kampf, Hitler mentions that an Anglicized-ally in England would be important to defeat communism. Back in England, Winston Churchill would have none of it. Churchill seemed unwilling to budge in his distaste for Germany, despite England being on the verge of collapse after the pyrrhic victory of the Battle of Britain. The British Royal Family, however, was not entirely united with Churchill.

it was reported that the Duke of Windsor entered into an agreement which in substance was to the effect that if Germany was victorious in the war, Hermann Gering through his control of the army would overthrow Hitler and would thereafter install the Duke of Windsor as the King of England.

– FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover in a memo to President Roosevelt

Rudolf Hess, Hitler's left hand man

Rudolf Hess, Hitler’s left hand man

Enter the Nazi 3rd in command, Rudolf Hess. Rudolf and Adolf were playmates in the early days of the Nazi party and were a part of the 1923 failed German coup known as the Beer-hall Putsch. Both men would eventually serve time for their rebelliousness, allowing them to grow faster friends (and collaborate on Mein Kampf). Adolf Hitler and Rudolf Hess were also associated with the mysterious Professor Haushofer, who was a member of the Vril, a secret society who believed in the Aryan ubermensch. Sound familiar? This occult shit was all the rage. Years later, as war between England and Germany dragged on; Professor Haushofer was a known supporter of peace with England. His pupil Rudolf Hess felt the same. Rudolf Hess may have also been influenced by a Swiss Astrologer who passed him advice advocating a peace mission to England. Curiously, the Swiss astrologer was likely under the employ of British Secret Agent, Ian Fleming – the very man who would go on to author the James Bond novels. Complicated story cut short: there were vast undercurrents pushing for peace in both England and Germany in the first half of 1941.

Haushofer and Hess, Professor of the Occult and his Pupil

Haushofer and Hess, Professor of the Occult and his Pupil

In May, Rudolf Hess flew on an apparent peace mission to England. In his possession, he had contacts given to him by Professor Haushofer, including names of members of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. Occultists of the world unite! The alignment of planets in the constellation of Taurus made 5/10/1941 the best day for Hess to make his trip. Perhaps the astrologer did not properly calibrate the density of Uranus… Low on fuel, Hess had to bail from his plane somewhere south of Glasgow and was promptly put under arrest by some lymie bloke with a pitchfork. Hess begged to see the Duke of Hamilton, but was eventually thrown into the Tower of London. Hitler spurned his old chum, calling Rudolf Hess insane for making such a journey. Winston Churchill called Hess’ peace mission a “frantic deed of lunatic benevolence.”

Rudolf Hess, second in line of succession behind Hermann Goering, was a Nazi with a plan for peace. The friends he sought were the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. For his deeds, Hess was tried as a war criminal at Nuremberg and spent the rest of his life in Berlin’s Spandau prison. In 1987, the 93 year-old Rudolf Hess committed suicide. No good deed goes unpunished.

And so the historical “what-if?” must be asked… If Nazi Germany allied itself with England, it would by extension be allied with the United States. Perhaps the Germans calm their Axis partners in Tokyo and Pearl Harbor is left in tranquility through 1941. Perhaps, then… instead of the eventual cold war between western Europe and the USSR for the next forty-odd years, we would actually have had a hot war between western democracies (with plenty of National Socialism in the mix) and Communist Russia. What sort of post-apocalyptic wasteland would Europe be now if that were the case?

We shall never know. After Rudolf’s “suicide”, the Hess family insisted on a separate autopsy. This new investigation found the body exhibited signs of strangulation versus hanging from a noose. What’s more – Rudolf Hess’ nurse claimed he would not have been able to raise his arms above his shoulders to assemble the self-euthanizing bow-tie. Conspiracy theories abound that Her Majesty’s Assassins where there in Spandau and put an end to Hess before he was released in order to ensure the Truth about a potential peace was kept from the public.

Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin enjoying the spoils of war

Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin enjoying the spoils of war

Good God, man. What happened to yesterday? In the hours before today, I was stomping my bruised foot along to the fiddles, sitting beside a beautiful Parisian student who was either making eyes at me or had developed a twitch from drinking too much cider. In those last hours of yesterday, Drambull was discussing competitive dance with the Swiss backpacker while Pax ran interference with the Swiss girl’s Italian lesbian bunk mate by pretending he was from Barcelona. There were laughs, Cuda brought over a round of whiskeys which begat more laughter. Then today happened. Shit.

When the pubs of yesterday close, the only business in Galway to be done at this hour was to be done at the Russian Dove – a labyrinth four stories tall with various halflevels, doorways to nowhere, open thresholds to oblivion, a maze of multidimensional mindfuckery, booze, silent disco (silent disco?) and mayhem both general & particular. After midnight, this was where to be and it was the last place I wanted to be. Sure – these were the witching hours of the conspiracist, but I was a sports journalist now, damn it. Ireland was sinking into a dark bog of paranoid isolationism and it was within the dungeons of the Russian Dove where the diseased rats of conspiracy were able to breed with their incestuous kin, spawning new depths of psychosis and malaise. In one corridor, the descendants of Adam Weishaupt represented the Bavarian Illuminati at the billiards table. Behind the bar, the Irish Republicans watched with a melancholic anger. At the turntables, the French Resistance was lost. The ex-KGB bouncer wasn’t taking his eyes off of Pax who he assumed was an anti-Castro un-revolutionary. After midnight, the sun had finally set on Galway and only madness filled the void.

I could feel the stout in my veins clouding my judgment, so I switched from Guinness to the lighter Smithwicks. Bollocks. Ten years gone and it is only 00:02. I leaned against the wall in order to steady the floor.

There has to be rules. Even a “free” society must put restrictions on our impulses, our greed, our desire to scratch our privates in public and fling poo at those we disagree with. The Unabomber was free – he lived in the woods, scratched his balls without hesitation, wrote manifestos and blew up whoever we wanted. Do we really want a world of freemen like him? Of course not. Which is why we put people in power, people to govern, people to make rules. It all seems so feudal, but who is going to protect the people from the Barbarism – both within the gates and without?

Coach Cuda, the man in charge of the “Catawampus” “Feralcats” Men’s “Competitive Dance” Team, had to set some rules. Each member of his collegiate squad, individually, was a nice young lad. Together, they were a plague of locusts. As ambassadors of America during this journey to Ireland, the guys had to be kept in line in order to avoid an international incident as well as avoid an entire generation of Yank bastard seeds in the bellies of the Galway girls. Cuda set a curfew of 22:00 and there was to be no drinking or shirtlessness in the hallways of the hotel.

After the 10 pm curfew, Cuda, his assistant coaches, and I, the team journalist and your narrator, Vic Neverman, would set out into the city. We too had to have rules. We were just as likely as the lads to start an international incident, though we did possesss enough good sense and restraint to not leave too many bastards in our wake. Our rules were simple. First – there was to be no discussion of dragons existing in the present (past or future was fair game). Second – if we closed a pub down, it was time to go home. These rules proved to be loose guidelines that would be ignored.

The pubs closed and after midnight the only place to be was the Russian Dove. After midnight, dissent kept quiet during the day was suddenly audible. Dissent to the rules. Dissent against the Euro, against the Union, against the Germans, against “Austerity”. Ireland was bankrupt and in order for Germany, the European Union, to bail out the Irish they would have to accept the austerity rules set forth by Germany. There would be a vote by the Irish people – accept defeat and take commands from the Union, or – spit in their faces, ensure independence and fight through these new troubles, these economic troubles, as Ireland and only Ireland. To vote against “Austerity” was to gamble with the future. No “Austerity”, no bail out.

As soon as yesterday was no more and those that would qualify today as today were still abed, voices of dissent arose. I heard these voices, have always heard these voices. The conspiracists for years have said the Fourth Reich was the banking establishment. Why did J. Edgar Hoover keep a file on Hitler sightings post-WW2? And now… and now, they point out, and now Germany is the economic might behind the European Union! The conspiracists ask, is this a coincidence?

Conspiracy Theory is looking at the stars in the sky and drawing your own constellations, whichever patterns best rationalize your cause. The Nazis are dead, I say, but old animosity is hard to minimize in these troubled times. The Irish don’t want to take their marching orders from the Germans and so the old nightmares are refreshed.

The “Troubles” of Northern Ireland is a reference to the centuries old effort at creating an independent Ireland – all of it – from the Brits. The Irish Republican Army rose in defiance of Her Majesty’s Occupation. Too much Catholic and Protestant blood was shed in these “Troubles”, but eventually a more peaceful coexistence was found. While Northern Ireland is more calm now than the entirety of the previous century, the Irish Republican Army still exists. The IRA’s political arm, Sinn Fein, still exists. In fact, the Sinn Fein Party is only gaining in popularity as it vehemently opposes the “Austerity” vote. Sinn Fein was once a movement of secular independence against the Queen, now it is a movement of economic independence against the Euro Empire.

And here we were in the Russian Dove. My jacket is strewn about somewhere as I skip around the dance floor, an imported American jester. At least the Smithwicks rehydrates me. There is too much club fog and we four horsemen of the Catawampus Apocalypse escape to the rooftop where hundreds more bodies are gathered in these witching hours, moving, dancing, drinking, plotting, scheming, endeavoring to conspire.

I find an English antagonist, a bloody prisoner of Mother England who is aggressively sucking his hand-rolled cigarette. He’s a bright chap and perhaps a decent bloke, if he weren’t such a fucking wanker. He criticizes America for our lack of social welfare. He criticizes Cuda and me for wearing our billed caps, “No one in Ireland wears them anymore.” I shrug, they are worn plenty back home. I enjoy his lack of couth, his unfriendliness in what one would assume were friendly confines. I delight in it, actually. The American social construct has so many conversational rules for small talk that no true discussion is really ever had. Perhaps a glutton for punishment, I stay in this POME’s company as he spits out his drivel of how everything I am is wrong. I smile and accept what is fair and debate what is not. It is refreshing to me, really. Perhaps if he insulted the NeverMum or Bo Lynn or my Puerto Rican psychic sidekick from Milwaukee, he’d have my forehead in his nasal cavity, but this mild flavor of his spittled spite was a warmer mist than the constant rain hitting the tarp that covered our rooftop perch.

While I appreciated the broken rules of social politeness exhibited before me, Pax and Cuda were poised to pounce. Pax, the Cuban exile, is a passionate American who doesn’t give a shit about England. Cuda, whose family is from Northern Ireland’s “Bandit Country” and who is an IRA sympathizer, hates all things imperial. The two of them would have loved to pummel my new and now former friend, the 5’7″ chain-smoking lonely lymie who was only voicing his dissent because it was after midnight and it was all he knew to do. Drambull and I corralled our angered friends and we left the roof.

We followed the broken fragments of intrigue, retracing our steps down the stairs to the various levels of clandestine encounters and cryptic messages written on the walls of the loo. When we finally found our way out of Minos’ prison, we emerged onto the street to find one of the Soviet bouncers with his knee in someone’s back, holding the rule breaker to the wet street of Galway.

In a few hours, a traditional Irish breakfast would be well received. Order would be restored.

Cuda, Drambull, Neverman and Pax at their favored pub in Galway, Monroe’s

(image taken from

After 20 years of drilling, the scientists employed by the mafia-state of Russian have dug over 12,000′ into ice to discover one of the largest bodies of water in the world. Lake Vostok had been relatively untouched for at least 14 million years… until now. The Russians brought back a glass of melted ice for their thirsty dictator, Vladimir Putin, who called it “a drink fit for dinosaurs”. It can only be speculated how much vodka he mixed with the lake water before consuming. Let us hope, for the sake of his innards, that his KGB nickname of Vlad “Old Iron Gut” Putin still holds true.

What secrets lie in this murky glass of water? What might be discovered from the distant past… or, perhaps, the more recent?

“They say the Vostok waters are heated by geo-thermal springs.” Spake Brother Rufus, a self-proclaimed expert in all things ancient who is also known as the barefoot profit in Central Florida. “And that the concentration of oxygen is higher than any other known body of water. Cosmologists and exo-geologists think the creatures that live within Lake Vostok could resemble those found on the icy alien moons of our solar system. I am more curious about the aliens living in Lake Vostok.”

Brother Rufus can seem a bit ridiculous during interviews when he hypothesizes about ancient aliens with donut jelly dripping down his stubbled chin, but he makes an interesting point.

“You’ve seen a lot of what I have seen, Vic. The Inca fortresses, the Rig Veda scriptures, all of the evidence for a pre-historian super-civilization. They say Atlantis sank beneath the waves… what if it just fell beneath the ice? An advanced civilization would be able to take advantage of the high amounts of oxygen and be able to subsist, though in a different state than what we are accustomed to. No satellite television, for example. They would probably have poor sight and develop sonar over thousands of generations. The water in Vostok is a temperate 65 degrees. An evolved homo species is not out of the question.”

I asked Brother Rufus if he believes the Russians are drilling into the ice to find these Atlantean manatee-monkey hybrids. “No…” Rufus shakes his head, the dribble of jelly lingering. “Putin doesn’t give a shit about mermen. Vlad is is looking for Nazis.”

Vic Neverman in New Zealand where he studied the reactions of skin to varying levels of heat

And here is where the Antarctica story becomes a little hazy. For such a gigantic landmass where so little is known, Antarctica harbors many mysteries. When I visited the Antarctica Research Center in Christchurch, New Zealand, I learned the human epidermal system works over-time in extreme cold (faster growing nails & body hair), but nothing about Nazis and mermaids. In my travels, the most interesting thing I have learned about Antarctica came in a fishing village near Galipoli in modern Turkey. It was the hometown of one of the world’s greatest navigators, the Ottoman corsair, Piri Reis, who helped give the Turks a naval advantage in the Mediterranean during the height of Ottoman rule of the Renaissance period. One of the keys to Piri Reis’ navigational mastery was his collection of maps… maps collected by the Byzantines of Constantinople… maps originally taken from the library of Alexandria before its destruction…. maps which accurately describe the true terrestrial coastline of Antarctica… coastline we can only now locate using satellite and sonar technology due to the mass of ice that has been sitting atop it for millions of years.

Bust of Ottoman Corsair Piri Reis (photo taken by Vic in Turkey)

What I, Vic Neverman, love most about history is the missing pieces of the puzzle. How can it be that the ancient libraries of Alexandria have maps of Antarctica drawn based on knowledge of the land from a time before civilization? A map older than mankind!?!?

And then, there are the Nazis.

South of Africa is an area of Antarctica called Neuschwabenland where the Germans built a scientific base that has long been rumored to have been a Nazi refuge after WWII. Kapitan Alfred Ritscher claimed vast territories of Antarctica in his 1938 expedition, supposedly including caverns heated by geothermal springs, rich with plant life. During the mid-1940s, the Nazis began building submarine bases in Neuschwabenland to increase their U-boat influence between South Africa and Argentina. Base-211 would become nicknamed “New Berlin.”

At the close of WWII, 100 German U-boats were not accounted for (based on the math of British historian Basil Liddell Hart). In July, 1945, the Argentine Navy captured U-530 at Mar del Plata. The Chief Torpedo Officer aboard U-530, Wilhelm Bernhart, claimed his U-boat had just returned from a trip to Antarctica where they delivered a vast amount of supplies, documents and Nazi relics.

What is most intriguing is the post-war expeditions underwent by the Brits and the Americans in the years following the 2nd World War.

British historian James Robert has interviewed surviving members of “Operation Tabarin” about “Britain’s secret war” against Nazis in Antarctica in 1945. Curious stories exist about genetically modified “Polar Men” who were hairier than the typical Nazi, better suited to extreme cold and possessing a propensity for ripping out throats.

(seriously, look this shit up…)

Torpedo man, Bernhart, also explained to American historian Colonel Howard Buechner that U-530 delivered the ashes of Hitler, Hitler’s still-living honey pot Ava Braun, and the true (mythical) Holy Lance (Longinus’s spear used to coup de gras Jesus) to Antarctica.

Seems far-fetched, sure… But in 1946, the United States initiated “Operation Highjump” led by famed polar explorer, Admiral Richard E Byrd, which was the largest Antarctica expedition ever (4700 men, 13 ships). Was this expedition, military in-nature according to Byrd, an attempt at grabbing land and uranium? Or was it a force meant to destroy the remaining Nazi forces? While the expedition was supposed to last 6-8 months, Byrd’s troops returned home after 6 weeks in what was declared a success.

If there is, or was, a Nazi base in Antarctica, what would the Russians hope to find in Lake Vostok?

“Nazi UFO technology.” Brother Rufus replied with a straight face. “Admiral Byrd warned us about flying craft in Antarctica that could reach the north pole in startling speed. Who knows what sort of toys are frozen in that ice?”

Of course, if this German Shangri La did exist, its vacancy would prove useful to a mafia-state looking to exploit the natural resources that will become available in the polar regions thanks to global warming. Russia is already circling its ice-breaking wagons around Santa’s Shop up north, why not get a toehold in the south?

“Well yeah, I guess there is that.” Brother Rufus admitted. “That and the UFOs.”

Split, Croatia, Spring 2011

The Promenade at the Port of Split

Twilight. The city of Split is alive in its urban sprawl, but closer to the Adriatic Sea is the ancient part of the city where the palace of Diocletian still stands, the retirement home of the Roman General-turned-Emperor, he who was so wonderfully talented at killing Christians. The palace stands, but between it and the port is the promenade – a Disneyification of Dalmatia – palm trees, large pedestrian walk ways, huge wind turbines, all greeting the influx of cruise ships and the carrion they carry on.

The light is dim on the table where two men shovel slices of pizza into their feed holes. An attractive cocktail waitress brings them two dark and perplexing Croatian beers. Before she is gone, the German economist makes reference to her posterior, “My friend, in your travels in this country, you make notice of the architecture, you make notice of the genocide, but pay special courtesy to the women. Built finer than any specimen this side of Brazil, the Croatian woman is. She has double-jointed hips, the proof is in the gait and may only be captured by your eye.”

Temple of Jupitor, Old Split

The German’s guest is an American, who relishes another slice of divine pizza. The American had subsisted off of pizza for much of his foray into the Balkans, bringing to mind a darker time from younger days in Chicago – hiding in abandoned subway stations and Bohemian cemeteries – but these dark thoughts are quickly scattered to the Adriatic breeze as another double-jointed Croat beauty saunter-swivel-saunter-swiveled past.

“To resume our discussion.” Jojo, the German, spoke while wiping pizza grease from his own face. “Milosevic was not murdered. There was no conspiracy. This scheisskopf (Milosevic) he takes the leprosy pills not because he is leper, because they will cancel his heart medication. He intends to die, but die in way the blame goes to the Establishment. Suicide as it looks like murder, ja? He wishes for the Croats and the Bosniaks and the Hague peoples to take blame for the cowardice he has.”

“Milosevic killed himself?” Jojo’s guest inquired, a look of incredulity upon his furrowed brow. “Wasn’t he too proud?”

“Proud? Ha!” Jojo laughed. “What do you know of pride? It is pride that drives the self-inflicted wound. Milosevic was too proud, which is why he could not take his failure. Pride is why his orthodox priest father killed himself in 1962 and his socialist bitch mother killed herself in 1972. The conspiracy is between Milosevic and whoever gave him the leprosy drug.”

The American who gazed at the promenade pizza vendor contemplating another slice was the conspiracy theorist, Vic Neverman. Neverman wore an Italian brimmed hat with a military jacket and plenty of facial hair. His eyes and dark features came from his ancient Kashmiri ancestors who roamed west, always west, with the Roma into Persia and Eurasia, fornicating and mixing blood along the way. The Nevermen were Gypsy mutts, men of the world, men of all countries, men of no country. A little over a century ago, they found their way to America. Some settled, one continues to wander.

Nostalgia for the Dictator Tito

“Milosevic was a villain of Croatia as Mladic is still an enemy today.” (NOTE: since the publishing of this post, Mladic was captured in Serbia and will be tried for crimes against humanity) Vic said. “The villainy label I can understand. What is perplexing is the Croatian hero worship for Tito and Stepinac.”

Jojo shrugged at Vic’s comment. “Tito was last great Yugoslav ruler. He kept peace between the Federation of Southern Slav. Tyrants are needed to rule dysfunctional society. Americans remove Hussein and now Iraq is not country, it is tribal. The Balkans too… The Communists ruled with brutality. Tito was a tyrant and keeps peace. What happen before Tito: Catholics killing Orthodox killing Muslim killing Christian. What happen after Tito: Catholics killing Orthodox killing Muslim, you see…” Jojo finished his beer and waved over the double-jointed waitress to order more beer along with pear brandy. “Tito represented strength and order. Without Tito, Yugoslavia is hell.

“And Stepinac? I know the Archbishop is practically a saint and a favorite of John Paul II, but the douchebag was a Nazi. How can he still be considered a hero?”

“Here in the land of the Great Schism, everyone has their own history.” Jojo said over his new shady, ominous, beer. “If you talk to the Catholic Croats, they will tell you Stepinac’s fascist Ustase friends were responsible for the deaths of 60,000 Orthodox Serbs at the Jesenovac concentration camp.”

Archbishop Stepinac, Nazi Sympathizer?

Vic was confused. The Croats loved their local Archbishop, why would they actually admit such atrocities from his association with the Nazi affiliated Ustase?

Jojo continued, “The Croats say only 60,000 when the Serbs say Stepinac is responsible for the deaths of 700,000 Serbs, at least 20,000 Jews, and 30,000 Gypsies.”

Vic Neverman nodded his understanding. Earlier in the week he had been in Zagreb at the cathedral that hosted the Stepinac museum. It was there an overly attentive nun provided book upon book of glorious Stepinac undertakings. The nun spoke of the Croat’s life, about his martyrdom – a death at Tito’s order (debatable), and his beatification by Pope JP2 in 1960 for the role Stepinac served in the Cold War. She did not mention how the Yugoslavian government tried and imprisoned Stepinac as a war criminal for backing the Nazi puppet government and their concentration camps.

In the nun’s presence, it had not taken Vic long before he found a book quoting the statement he had long known Stepinac for (paraphrased here): “there are the commies, there are the capitalists, and there is the Vatican; only one will emerge and lead the New World Order.” This speech given by Stepinac is often raved about in conspiracy theory circles as proof that there is a NWO and that the Pope is trying to take over the world. Vic Neverman brought this up to Jojo over spilt beer on this Split promenade, “if the New World Order exists today, who is pulling the strings, the Communists, the Capitalists, or the Vatican?”

Jojo rolled his eyes, “None of the above. Communism is failed idealism, Capitalism was just the method of the Establishment at the time. The Vatican has their spies throughout the third word under the guise of mission work where they tell tribal peoples to not use condoms in order to spread their diseases. Their influence ends there. You conspiracy theorists are no less than a crazy cult person. You believe in crazy things because it makes more sense than chaos, yet it be chaos that is champion. Ja?”

Vic shifted uncomfortably in his chair, “So you are saying things like JFK’s assassination and 9/11 and…”

“Tragic.” Jojo cut in. “Yes, but grand conspiracy? Nein. You are familiar with the Great War, the so-call ‘War to End All War’?”

Neverman Caffeinating in Split

“The First World War.” Vic nodded.

“The bullet to start all wars to end all wars begins with a masterful conspiracy and done so by a nationalist movement of Serbs.”

“The Black Hand.”

Ja, the Black Hand wished to recreate the 15th century Greater Serbia, much like Milosevic attempted of late. On the day of the assassination, Serb and Bosniak conspirators were waiting along the Sarajevo route for the Austro-Hungarian overlord Franz Ferdinand’s convertible – imagine JFK’s Dallas fifty years earlier. Most of the assassins failed to act and one attempted to throw a grenade, but his bomb merely bounced off the car and killed many others. The grenadier took cyanide and failed at that too, only inducing vomiting, allowing himself to be captured and beaten.

Alles klar, Archduke Franz took notice of the violence, yet he still goes to deliver his speech with the mayor of Sarajevo, making fun of this attempted bombing. He decides after his speech he is going to visit the wounded at the hospital. His driver makes wrong turn, goes down the wrong alley, and when reversing the car stalls. These things happened in 1914, cars not so trusty then. This wrong turn stall occurs right before a deli and out of this deli happens to be walking Gavrilo Princip, one of the failed assassins from earlier in the day. Serendipitous is the word, ja? Princip shoots and kills Franz and his duchess. Months of intense conspiratorial organization leads no where, but simple chance creates the opportunity to kill the man to start the Great War.

“This is your great conspiracy. You say JFK is too big to die from one lone nothing, but I say it takes one bullet to kill a man. Especially in the Balkans, death comes very easily here.”

UFOlogy is often viewed by mainstream media as being an obsession with alien spacecraft, but the UFOlogy question is merely, “What is in our skies?” Alien technology is just one possible response to this question, but not the only. Unmanned drones have been seen over American skies for decades, but until these craft became popularized in modern warfare publicity these flying metal insects were classified by investigators as “unidentified flying objects”. Well, now they are identified and they are striking fear in “the bad guys” from Libya to Pakistan and many points in between. My point is this: UFO investigations cover more ground than just the extra-terrestrial lifeform question. Still, UFOlogy is constantly drawn back into a discussion on aliens.

common alien portrayal

To examine why, let us go back to the birthplace of modern UFOlogy – Roswell, New Mexico. In 1947, as the story goes, a crashed UFO and its inhabitants were transported to Area 51, a “non-existent” military base in Nevada. The events around the Roswell crash are the genesis of both UFOlogy and the popularization of bipedal aliens that emerged in the contemporary media. Now, there is a new book “Area 51” that claims the crew of the Roswell craft were not aliens at all, but rather deformed Russian science experiments designed to strike fear in America.

Through her research, author Annie Jacobsen posits this: inspired by the hysteria of the American panic in 1938 caused by Orson Welles’ broadcast of “War of the Worlds”, Joseph Stalin used captured Nazi* technology and science to build and send a remotely piloted craft full of genetically mutated children on a fateful trip to the American Southwest to purposely crash and set American media ablaze with paranoia. Stalin wanted to scare the shit out of the American public.

From Roswell springs forth the bulk of alien conspiracy thought. Consider the familiar image of the alien: one head, four limbs, two eyes, nostrils and a mouth – all positioned much as it would be on a human. How can an advanced race of extra-terrestrial beings exist on a parallel to our own civilization (assuming no cross-pollination**) and evolve to have such overwhelming similarities with us Earthlings? If you consider the vast differences between New World monkeys and Old World, or even of terrestrial iguanas and marine iguanas of the Galapagos, then it is ridiculous to think any alien race of separate origin would so closely resemble homo Sapiens (sorry Star Trek fans). It is akin to tossing two water melons off two different ten story buildings and expecting the splatter of seeds on the street to be exactly the same.

Supposed autopsy footage of Roswell alien

Popular thought on aliens all derives from origins in New Mexico and Nevada. All of the alien images: those bulbous heads, almond eyes, small mouths, spindly arms, comes to us from images of the alien autopsy supposedly performed at Area 51. The new book on the subject of this military base would have us believe these “alien” features are those from the bodies of humans (perhaps children) genetically altered by Russian (ex-Nazi) scientists. The aliens of popular media might not be so extra terrestrial after all…

This, of course, does not disqualify the existence of aliens. It should, however, change how we perceive the suggestion of alien life in our skies. The widely held thought of bipedal humanoid aliens may just be a smokescreen, distracting us from the truth. In her book, Area 51, Annie Jacobsen quotes sources who say the alien hypothesis was useful by the CIA/Military present at the base as disinformation guarding the true work of what was being done at Area 51 – mainly espionage technology.

Stalin wants you to think aliens are in the White House

If Joseph Stalin was the progenitor of the bodies found in Roswell, then he could be called one of the greatest contributors to conspiracy theory and science fiction ever!

*Nazi scientists were collected by Russia at the close of World War 2 just as the American space program originated with the smuggling of German scientists back to Huntsville, Alabama, in “Operation Paper-Clip”

**The assumption of no cross-pollination is in reference to Ancient Alien theory. This premise, of which I continue to study greatly, suggests that there did (perhaps does) exist a superior race of beings that directly engineered the current civilization of man on Earth. This theory supports bipedal aliens being similar to humans as the two races would come from a similar origin. The recent series of Battle Star Gallatica popularizes the reverse version of this theory where refugees from Earth are the “gods” that populate planets in a separate solar system.

An interesting discussion came out of a Vic Neverman blog posted on the philosophical meandering site Zoey and the Zeitgeist that I am linking here. I would have re-posted this Neverman blog, but then the valuable comments would be lost.

The blog began as a comical aside about our cultural hate for Nazis and blossomed into defining the role of America in fighting tyranny abroad. Qaddafi called us ‘Nazis’, others call us imperialists for interfering in North Africa. Even those anti-Qaddafi have to wonder what are we really doing there and where will this end.